Harry Pothead and the Apocalypse
by Andy Hoyt
Summary: When the Illuminati bring about the Apocalypse, you can expect Harry to be ready for them, firmly barricaded in the cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps it is up to his classmates to take on this wave of evil or maybe they’ll take his advice and join him.
1. The Prophecy with an added melon flavour

**Harry Pothead and the Apocalypse** by deathmedic

Summary: When the Illuminati bring about the Apocalypse, you can expect Harry to be ready for them, firmly barricaded in the cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps it is up to his less famous classmates to take on this wave of evil… or maybe they'll take his advice and hideout with him. Either way, expect much maniacal mayhem and relentless travesty requiring an acquired taste for satire. (Something of a sequel to Harry Potter and the Holocaust (posted only at adultfanfiction dot net) and the Harry Pothead series)

Prologue: The Prophecy with an added melon flavour

Under a dark storm night, figures dressed in black robes assembled in a nameless forest. A new prophecy was to be written, a new doom to be thrown upon the unsuspecting world. This cult gathered were not what you would expect to find sneaking around the Scotland countryside – this was not any order of followers dedicated to any sort of dark lord. Such a notion mentioned would invoke maniacal laughter amongst the lot of them. No, these mysterious figures were of a much higher league than Voldemort or any wizard for that matter aspiring to even his height… these were the _Illuminati_. A name so powerful that it can only be uttered in italics.

Anyway, these demi-gods had assembled with notepads and pens – setting forth to rewrite the prophecy that would judge those beneath them. The original parchment had been lacking, well for one it was boring. So infuriated by the inferior quality, the _Illuminati _decided that they would rewrite it and add to it until it was a masterpiece worthy enough to be made into an epic Broadway production.

It was, as you can guess, the foundation for the impending… Apocalypse!


	2. Happiness Is A Warm Closet

Chapter 1: Happiness is a Warm Closet

It was beginning, the whole horrible thing. Harry knew this as he ran away from the storm that was approaching, tripped over his own feet innumerable times in his hurry. Shoelaces were untied – _curse them_, he thought frantically as he panicked, _should have bought Velcro…_Tripped again, this time on a vile rock. Then he realized that it was not a rock, but someone else's foot, but it was too late he was already face down in the dirt. When he stood up he found himself staring at someone he was not expecting: Dolores Umbridge.

"It was you all this time!" Harry exclaimed, everything dawning on him at once. "You're one of _them_!" The Principal looked confused as Harry babbled on.

"And you're out to get me lucky charms!!" was the only thing the Umbridge heard as she took off her headphones.

"What was that Mr. Pothead?" she asked, looking none too pleased with having her personal time interrupted. Granted, she was the one that had deliberately tripped him, but…

"It's coming!" he continued, pulling his hair out in his overly dramatic terror.

"What is?" she was glaring.

Harry was speechless for a moment as his mind sorted itself out before he finally stammered: "T-t-the…. KRAKEN!" Umbridge decided not to say anything and they just stared at each other for a long time. Without another word, Harry jumped up suddenly and sped off again.

A shadow descended upon the school, engulfing everything in sight into a bottomless abyss of… unknown substance. It was then that our heroes found themselves in the wake of their impending doom…

Will our heroes survive the apocalypse? Will Harry reach his closet in time? Will the U.S. ever adopt the metric system? I think not – _stay tuned_!


	3. Plot Thickens As the JellO Congeals

Chapter 2: The Plot Thickens As the Jell-O Congeals

Darkness and the sound of someone trying to scream through a wet paper bag.

"I'm not masochistic…" someone spoke, presumably to the person being tortured. Another muffled sound, perhaps a protest. "…Maybe to those other jokers, but not to you."

Their victim was punched in the gut several times, resulting in more stifled cries. Then the paper bag was forcibly removed.

"It's your baby… Draco…" the victim finally choked out.

"Wait… what the bloody hell?!" Draco screamed. "How the hell is it mine?"

"Don't ask me," Neville replied through a mouth filled with ketchup. "Ask… Hermione. She says to remember that night in Vegas."

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"Not when I'm pregnant!"

There was a long moment of silence, before Neville spoke up again, "Sorry, I meant 'Not when Hermione's pregnant.' Can't speak very well with a swollen lip."

"What's this got to do with you anyway?"

"Hermione and I are engaged, but that's not why I came to tell you. I would have just told you, but you attacked me. Anyway, I'll just tell you now… Draco, I know how this will sound, but… just try not to… laugh…"

"Hurry up will you or I'll give you another black eye."

"Okay – okay. Listen, your son… he's… well… he's not normal… I don't know how to put this nicely, but—"

"Oh god! He's a hermaphrodite, isn't he?" Draco interrupted.

"What the hell? No!"

Draco sighed, "That's a relief, no worries then."

"He's a demon, Draco."

"A what?"

"A d-e-m-o-n, Draco, a fucking bloody monster. Are you deaf?"

"What are you even talking about?"

"Your son is the son of the devil!"

"So what's your point anyway?"

"Your son was kidnapped by the _Illuminati_ and they're going to use him to bring about the Apocalypse."

"NO!" Draco screamed suddenly. "He's got my pot of gold!"

Neville didn't comment about Draco's statement, figuring that the shock had only scrambled his mind for a moment in panic. "So you're going to stop them and save the world?"

"Hell no! I'm not going to risk my life!" With that, Draco's gang finished beating up Neville and left to rob a bank.


	4. Agent of Apathy

Chapter 3: Agent of Apathy

His moustache itched. He didn't know why, but it did. It wasn't even his, it was fake, but apparently that didn't matter. Harry was sitting in his office, sipping a cup of coffee. The office wasn't as good as a closet, but it was still warm and for now it had to do. Plus he could fit a television in here, which you unfortunately couldn't do with a closet. A knock sounded and Harry frowned. Before he could bother to open it, the door slammed open.

"How can I help you?"

"You don't remember me, do you Harry?" A vaguely familiar woman was standing in the doorway. There was no mistaking the bushy hair underneath the ski mask. She was holding a gun in one hand, but wasn't making any threats with it so Harry didn't have anything to fear yet.

"Should I?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to sound seductive, but only came off confused.

"Does Las Vegas ring a bell?"

"Yes."

"Then you do remember me."

"Are you the person who stole all of my money in that poker game?"

"No… huh?"

"Are you… the bartender who overcharged me for a martini?"

"Guess again, Harry, I'm Hermione."

Harry gasped in shock as it all dawned on him… "Who?"

She slapped her face in exasperation. "I was the goddamn hooker!"

"Psh! As if!" Harry scoffed. "I didn't hire any prostitutes."

"You paid me, but I slept with Draco instead."

"Who?"

Hermione just shook her head sadly and took off the ski mask. After shedding the criminal appearance, beneath she was a stunningly beautiful woman clothed in a black pinstripe dress. With the façade gone, she had donned a new one reminiscent of film noir. "That doesn't matter anymore. I need your help, Harry. My son was kidnapped by the _Illuminati_ to take part in the Apocalypse. I need you to save him."

"Look lady, I don't even know your name—"

"It's Hermione! I told you before!"

Harry ignored her and continued. "That performance was all very Oscar award winning, but I'm just an insurance agent not some sort of detective. You've mistaken me for someone else… someone who cares."

Hermione now looked insulted. "Look mister, just who do you think you are?"

"I'm Harry Potter, aren't I?" He looked confused for a moment as if his identity was uncertain. He had to walk outside and look at the sign above the door and realized his mistake. "Sorry, Harry Pothead."

"What ever happened to our time at Hogwarts?"

"We'll always have Paris, my love."

"What? We've never been to Paris."

"Oh well… I can't remember. We'll have something," He looked around his office for something, found something, and handed it to her. "We'll have this."

"A half eaten cookie?" Hermione thought about calling the nice men in white coats, but then she remembered that she needed Harry's help. "Look, I don't have time for this. You're the only one who can save my son."

"Why, is it because I'm the Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die?"

"No. It's because I love you Harry."

"Sure, you say that now, but I'm sure you tell the same thing to the father of your kid."

"That's not true. I don't love Draco, that's why I'm marrying Neville. But I've always loved you Harry."

"Well, I'm not going to get caught up in your demented love triangle. Hell no, I've got enough drama as is. Damn, did I get written into a fucking soap opera?"

"Then I guess you won't be interested in knowing that I'm also your long lost half-sister."

"What the hell? Now that's just sick."

"You little bitch, Harry! I throw myself at you and you just brush me aside! Can't you just be a hero again, just for old time's sake?"

Harry turned around to gaze outside the window. Below he saw the city choking on its own pollution. There were zombies walking around, but they were just little dots on the streets below. This was his domain; his corporate kingdom.

"I gave up that life long ago… turned in my cape and yellow spandex. My work is here now, among the paper pushers. My mission is to help the little people with their insurance issues of doom. Perhaps I'll return someday if the outfit still fits, but for now… Wait, what time is it?"

"Three o'clock, why?" Hermione was puzzled.

"Can we talk about this later? Martha Stewart is on," Harry turned away to turn on the television.


	5. Zwitter

Chapter 4: Zwitter

Neville had a bad feeling, an unshakable trepidation as he walked down the dark alley. For starters his day hadn't gone well; first with his son getting kidnapped by a cult, getting mugged by the biological father of his son, then the drug deal that went down wrong (he was caught selling gillyweed), and now the impending Apocalypse. What else could go wrong?

Just as he asked, a dark figure materialized in the alleyway. In his fear, Neville couldn't run away or even move. The figure drew closer, with each step amplifying Neville's terror. Then as it stepped into the dim light cast by the neon sign of Hooters, he could make out its features. Dressed in a black cape, much of those features were concealed, but he could still see the tattoo on its arm… of a heart and the word mom written sloppily. This threw Neville off, as he was about to assume it was a death eater. Either way, things didn't look good for Neville who was on the verge of needing a kidney transplant.

"Are you the one with the scar?" the figure asked, its voice not deep, but feminine yet still menacingly ominous.

"Well… I've got a scar in the shape of a squiggly line," Neville answered. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"Hm…" the mysterious entity thought for a moment. "Is it in anyway the shape of a lightning bolt?"

"No, it more resembles a coke bottle."

"Oh, no," the figure shook its head. "Sorry to have bothered you then." It turned away to enter Hooters.

"But, I know someone who has a lightning scar," Neville called out. The figure stopped and walked back.

"Tell this person that the Apocalypse is coming—"

"He already knows," Neville interrupted.

"Err, well then, just tell him that Zwitter called."

"Zwitter? Isn't that German for 'hermaphrodite'?"

"Psh, so what? It's my name, okay!" the cloaked figure sounded indignant. "Fick dich!"

"Sorry," Neville didn't sound in the least bit apologetic. "So what's this Apocalypse supposed to be like?"

"It's a secret," Zwitter was still upset. "But I will tell you one thing: it will involve zombies."

"Why zombies?"

"Because zombies are ficken cool!"

"Yes, but couldn't you be more… original?"

"These are genetically enhanced zombies."

"How'd you do that?" Neville was stunned.

"Gave 'em Viagra."

Neville facepalmed. "How the hell is that any good?"

"It's a secret," and with that last statement, Zwitter disappeared into Hooters never to be seen again…


	6. Parental Guide Book for Raising Hell

Chapter 5: Parental Guide Book for Raising Hell

And then it happened… all hell broke loose as the Apocalypse came to be. But first, Harry tripped over his shoelaces again. Then he opened the refrigerator and gasped with unmatched shock. As genetically enhanced zombies paraded around the streets just outside, Harry was appalled to find that someone hadn't covered up the turkey leftovers. Without any protection from the hordes of bacteria, the turkey had mutated into a moldy lump of rotten flesh.

Without warning, the animated corpse of his holiday dinner leapt out of its open container and attacked the milk carton. Horrified, Harry quickly slammed the door shut and leaned against it.

"Got to find something to barricade it…" he thought aloud as his eyes darted around the kitchen for some sort of heavy object. His train of thought was interrupted as an iPod blasted out 'Down With The Sickness' without warning. Panicking, Harry jumped across the room in his rush to turn off the noise and crashed onto it instead. This wasn't the time to mourn the death of his iPod, but he did celebrate his victory in silencing the music before any creature of the Apocalypse could find him. Although in the midst of his dance of triumph, he forgot one very important thing: the now gaping refrigerator door.

Now he was hyperventilating as he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed upon the sight of the turkey remains. It was moving ever closer to him, each crawl forward symbolizing his shortening lifespan. Just at the last minute, before the turkey could bite his toe, Harry screamed and ran for his life – not to the backdoor, but toward the only thing he knew as safe: the closet.

Among the coat hangers and scent of mothballs, Harry hid in the corner and mumbled insanely to himself. It was just after he locked the door, it dawned on him that he left the kitchen light on.

"Oh god, my electric bill," he grieved.

-MEANWHILE-

Draco was in the midst of exercising to his aerobic tape when the Apocalypse happened. Just as Richard Simmons said 'okay girls, lets work out that butt', the zombies tried to break down the front door.

"Wait until my father hears about this!" Draco exclaimed before being promptly attacked by the zombies. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't a very quick death. But this wasn't the end of him, no this was only the beginning…

When Draco awoke he found that the zombies were gone, but so were his clothes. And he felt strange… he felt… horny?

"What the fuck?" Draco was completely confused. He had seen many zombie movies in his lifetime, and this latest turn of events did not add up at all. After getting up, he carefully checked himself for any bite marks or wounds. There was none, nothing at all. It didn't make sense, but he wasn't one to argue against his survival.

And although he hadn't put much stock into the Apocalypse before, Draco now knew that he'd better get his shit in gear before his luck ran out. First, he found his lucky four-leaf clover and then left the house armed with a very expensive golf club. Even though he hated the bloody bastard, he was going to need Harry's help – or Neville's for that matter.

Off he went, running through the shadows and dodging the zombie armada with the grace of a professional ballerina.

-Meanwhile-

It took a hell of a long time busting down the door to Harry's house, but Hermione succeeded eventually. Neville closely followed behind, carrying with him his newly purchased copy of _The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection From The Living Dead by Max Brooks_ (they'd stopped by Barnes & Noble along the way).

They surveyed the area, armed with a shotgun (actually Hermione was armed with the gun, while Neville only held the book up to protect himself). What they found lying on the floor was a very rotten turkey, but it was not moving. It had died in the process of chasing after Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione tentatively called out, unsure of his condition. She cocked the shotgun just in case. "Where the hell are you?"

There was a muffled sound coming from the closet, so they approached it with utmost caution. When they had their ears pressed up against the door, they could finally make out a voice.

"Could someone turn off the kitchen light, please?"

"Harry! Are you alright?"

"I will be if you turn off the light."

"Have you been bitten?" Hermione was insistent in her questioning.

"Have you been sexually assaulted?" Neville added.

"What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?" Harry sounded annoyed. "Hell no – and Neville, you better not get any ideas."

"I was only asking," Neville protested, "and these aren't your usual kind of zombies."

"Zombies? What the bloody hell are you going on about?"

"Ohmyfuckinggod!" Hermione cried out almost incoherently as she facepalmed. "Why were you hiding in the closet then?"

There was a long silence for a moment; Harry didn't want to tell them that he'd been chased by an undead turkey – that was just embarrassing. "Err… well… you know, when a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do…"

"OMFG!" Hermione repeated, utterly furious with Harry's stupidity. "The world's coming to an end and you just decide to mas—" Her words were cut off as there came a loud banging against the front door.

"It's me, Draco – let me in!" someone shouted from behind the door. Hermione abandoned the useless Harry to answer the door.

"Oh thank god, Draco, I was so worried. What the hell?" It was then that Hermione noticed something very odd about Draco…

"I'm just so happy to see you Hermione," Draco quickly made up an excuse for… his condition… "Anyway, how 'bout those zombies, eh?"

"I'm on it," Neville replied as he opened his guide book and read through it. Even though the _Illuminati_ had modified the zombies, they still had to abide by the universal rule of zombie-ism… or at least Neville hoped. "Ah – here's an interesting bit of info, listen up everyone." He cleared his throat and recited a paragraph from the book on the transfer of the zombie virus.

"Infection can occur only through direct fluidic contact. A zombie bite, although by far the most recognizable means of transference, is by no means the only one. Humans have been infected by brushing their open wounds against those of a zombie or by being splattered by its remains after an explosion. No information historical, experimental, or otherwise has surfaced regarding the results of sexual relations with an undead specimen, but as previously noted, the nature of the virus suggests a high danger of infection. Warning against such an act would be useless, as the only people deranged enough to try would be equally unconcerned for their own safety…"

Neville went on, but after reaching the fourth sentence Draco stopped paying attention. What he'd been keener on noticing was how suddenly – and strangely – attractive Neville had become. Now, he'd never really been interested in boys (although there were a few times Blaise came off as appealing), but now he didn't know why of all times it would occur now. If he wasn't being affected by a strange outside source, he would logically come to the conclusion that it was a factor of the Apocalypse. But since he wasn't exactly himself, he didn't argue with these unprovoked urges. In fact, come to think of it, as he looked around the room everyone here was turning him on.

_Oh Hermione, you look so kickass with your shotgun_, Draco thought dreamily completely lost in his own little world of love and bliss, _and you Neville, so cute in that heroic stance. You looked dorky before when you forgot everything, but now… now you're going to save us from this doom. Oh, I swear I just want to fu—_

"Draco, could you please stop staring at me like that," Neville politely pleaded, jolting Draco out of his thoughts. "You're scaring me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, perfectly fine." _You're so fine…_

"Okay Harry, its time for you to come out of there," Hermione coaxed and eventually Harry opened the door.

_Oh dear, and just when I thought the other two were something to behold… Harry just about surpasses them all, with his macho scar…_

"Draco, this may sound a little strange, but… were you ever sexually assaulted today?" Neville couldn't help, but notice Draco drooling.

"I'd like to sexually assault you," Draco accidentally thought aloud. Everyone gasped and Draco then realized his mistake. "Err… what I meant to say was…"

"Oh dear, it's worse than I thought," Neville had finally concluded what the _Illuminati_ had done to the zombies. "You see, I think that the virus is sexually transmitted which seems to explain the Viagra. I'm sorry to say that Draco has been infected." Another round of gasps.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," someone unexpectedly said.


	7. A Series of Questionable Phenomenons

Chapter 6: A Series of Questionable Phenomenons

Everyone turned to look with gaping shock at Harry, completely stunned by his comment made in the last chapter. But before anyone could make an innuendo about him coming out of the closet, a most disturbing sound distracted them. It wasn't the moaning of zombies that had now been accepted as ambient background noise – it was something far worse. Of course that was questionable, since they couldn't see what had made the sound. Either way, the noise could only be classified as something as high pitched as a woman in a grade-B horror flick and as eerie as a demonic war cry.

But even before they could react to that, a wave of zombies tried to enter the apartment. There was a booming series of knocks on the door. Everyone stood huddled in the middle of the room, clutching desperately to various objects they had picked up as weapons. Neville had the zombie guide book in one hand and a cricket bat in the other, which he brandished with uncertainty since he'd never played the sport; Draco had his expensive golf club, which he wasn't too keen on using since it _had_ cost him a considerable amount (that and it was really his father's, so if he messed it up he'd have hell to pay); Harry had picked up a mechanical fire starter from the closet at the last minute; Hermione had the shotgun, of course.

They stood tense and uneasy, all eyes fixed on the door. Another knock sounded, this time less erratic and violent.

"Hello? Who is it?" Harry called out, hoping that maybe Ron had showed up to join their motley crew.

"Pizza delivery," a voice on the other side announced, and it brought to mind a pimply apathetic teenager, most likely emo with long hair combed over its downcast eyes. Maybe a lip ring or two; Harry had always wanted one, but the Dursleys were completely against it – besides they'd already saved up a Prince Albert for Dudley and there wasn't enough money left over for Harry to use.

"Oh!" Harry was pleased at this positive change of events. He didn't think in the least that it was odd, especially since no one had ordered anything since the start of the Apocalypse, but he was hungry and that was the end of any argument. "Hold on a moment." Harry went through his pockets to find his wallet, and after that had a hell of a time finding any cash. All the while his friends screamed at him to not open the door, but he couldn't hear their frantic cries over the demanding grumbles of his stomach.

He opened the door with confidence and smiled at the teenager standing in the hallway. "There better not be any anchovies or else I'll—," but his death threat died away as he realized that he'd been tricked, only this revelation came a few minutes after he'd been hit over the head with a severed limb. Stumbling back, he tried to slam the door shut, but a thousand decaying arms held it open. Picking himself up quickly, he tried to use his weapon of choice against them.

_Click… click…clickclickclickclick!!!_

Harry kept trying to get the damn fire starter to work a flame, but he once again realized that the safety was on. Before he could be bitten or sexually assaulted, Draco went medieval on the zombies' asses as he swung his expensive golf club around like a maniac. The others realized that they should probably help, and so everyone (except Harry, he just sat there) pitched in to fend of the zombie horde. After barricading the door, Neville busted out his handbook to see what they should do next.

He spent a lot of time flipping through pages, trying to keep his expression optimistic. Then Neville paused and stared for awhile at the book's suggestion. Hermione assumed that he didn't like the answer.

"Says to stay on the move; no place is safe, only safer," Neville read aloud.

Harry came back from where ever the hell he'd disappeared off to, this time instead of the fire starter he now held a toilet plunger. Draco stared at him for awhile, but decided not to make a statement on Harry's poor choice of weaponry.

"So…what's the plan of action?" Hermione asked as she checked the condition of her nails with distain. Today just wasn't her day; she had a hang nail and her nail polish was slightly chipped.

"Well," Neville began. "First, we should get medical attention for Draco because of his…" Everyone turned to look at his pants. "…condition."

"Hospital then?" Harry inquired, realizing that he was gradually loosing his status as protagonist. "There's one across the street."

An hour later and with the "help" of Harry's "exquisite" navigation "skills", they found themselves standing in the lobby of the hospital. Before anyone could "congratulate" Harry, another cheesy horror movie scream echoed through the building. Curious, and armed for anything, they followed the sound until it had led them just outside an operation room. They opened the door and were shocked to see a certain someone injecting drugs into his arm.

"Voldemort?!" Everyone exclaimed. You-Know-Damn-Well-Who looked up from his handiwork at them with glazed over eyes.

"I don't feel so well you guys…" he looked on the verge of collapsing. Hermione, who had always secretly harboured feelings for the dark lord, helped him to lie down on the operation bed. Before the others could interrogate him, he had passed out. They waited around until he came to, but the interrogation seemed like it would prove useless. He was acting dizzy and insensible.

"Voldemort, what were you doing here?" Harry used a deep commanding voice and tried to come off as heroic, but once again failed miserably.

"I can see your penis," Voldemort announced and giggled like a school girl. Harry quickly covered himself with his hands, even though it wasn't necessary since he was fully clothed. "I can still see it."

"Goddamnit, Voldemort!" Harry raised his fist and threatened to punch him. Hermione held him back.

"Harry no!" Hermione pleaded. "He's drugged, he can't help it."

"Well, fix it with a damn spell!"

Hermione then remembered that they were wizards and she complied with Harry's command; with a flick of her wrist and a twirl of her wand, Voldemort was instantly sobered.

"What were you doing here?" Neville reiterated patiently.

"Well, before the Apocalypse, I was rushed to the hospital to be treated for heart failure. Then I went into a coma, then the Apocalypse happened: everyone died and stuff. I woke up and…" He scrunched up his face trying to remember, then he happened to look at his surroundings and it all came back to him with a terrifying flash back. "THERE'S SHIT EVERYWHERE!!"

This observation soon dawned on everyone else, and they found that this hospital seemed to be the region's outhouse for every zombie. It was most startling, especially since they were knee-deep in the stuff.


	8. Fortune Cookies

Chapter 7: Fortune Cookies

When Voldemort had calmed down, to an extent – it had recently been discovered that he was obsessive compulsive and couldn't stand to see the mess in the room. Practically swimming in the crap, our heroes tried to coax him into talking without screaming. Eventually, Voldemort told the whole story without such outbursts, and it went something like this:

"Gather 'round, children," he began. They almost sat down in a circle around him, but remembered that if they did, they would have suffocated in the piles of rubbish. "I'm going to tell you the story of the Apocalypse… In the beginning, there were these Druids who built Stonehenge just for the heck of it and they got a good laugh out of seeing the tourists ponder the meaning of the arranged stones. There were various cults in those days, all creating the wonders of the world. But there was one cult that dared to be different; this was the _Illuminati_ who didn't want to merely pull pranks, but to actually cause great destruction. After millions of years and long after the dinosaurs had died off from boredom, they formulated their plan. They outlined that they would create an Apocalypse, composed of genetically enhanced zombies and far worse creatures – these creatures would wreak havoc across the eastern seaboard and in their wake would only be death and… apparently shit." Voldemort paused to hold back an exclamation of what was causing the horrid smell surrounding them once more.

"Once the world was turned into nothing more than a garbage heap, the true Apocalypse would commence. Every human would be either converted into one of them or killed. Those that died, would rise from their graves and be eaten alive by three-headed dogs with rabies. And even after that, they would be reincarnated as janitors and forced to clean up the mess after the party. Oh, such horror you've never seen would take place! Your skin will be ripped from your body by shock rockers and replaced by cold metal!" Voldemort stood up on the operation table, his hands outstretched into the air like a Puritan minister telling the tale of judgment day and in a way he was. He shouted at them, with saliva flying out of his mouth.

"Hobos will spit in your face! You'll be forced to dance the Macarena! Everyone will speak Spanish and you won't know what the hell they're saying! Marilyn Manson will appear in a pink tutu and beat you to death with a fishing pole! Angry politicians will dump boiling cheese on you and you won't be given any nacho chips! You'll get embarrassing tattoos, like Michael Jackson's face on your belly, and you won't be able to get laser surgery!"

By this time, the others had lost interest in the story of their doom. They gathered up their belongings and left the hospital altogether, leaving Voldemort to his insane ranting. Little did they know that the rest of the information was most important of all.

"You'll know when this begins… when the country western music starts playing in the streets of London…" Were the words that never reached their ears.

They ran through the streets, fending of the zombies as they made their way toward the next person who would give them advice. They stopped at a dingy retirement home and entered the lobby. Seemingly untouched by the Apocalypse, the receptionist was rude as any day and took her time directing them to where they would find the wise wizard.

Up several flights of stairs they took two at a time, until they reached floor #458 and knocked tiredly upon door #1,8890. When no one bothered to answer, they tried the door knob. It easily turned in Hermione's hand and they entered the home of the oracle. There was a pleasant homey scent of baked cookies cooling in the oven, reminding Neville and Harry of the childhood they had been deprived of. But before they could find a corner to cry and whine about child abuse, they stumbled across the oracle.

Seated in a rocking chair by the window overlooking a park, was the old man they had traveled to seek guidance from. His lamenting eyes gazed out through half-moon sunglasses as he set down the Daily Prophet's crossword puzzle on the coffee table.

"So they got you too did they?" Dumbledore inquired of Draco. "Pity, half the city has gone stark raving mad… Do you hear that?" Everyone went silent and listened hard to what the noise he was referring to. In the distance, drifting in from the open window was a faint tune being played on an acoustic guitar. "Not much time left now."

"That's why we came to get help from you," Hermione tried to regain his attention when he had picked up the crossword again. "We'll do anything to stop this Apocalypse."

"Alright, if you answer a riddle of mine first I shall impart upon you the necessary knowledge you need to survive this cataclysm."

"What is it?"

"What's a five letter synonym for antidisestablishmentarianism?"

"Err…" this was the moment of truth for the walking encyclopedia known as Hermione. Correction: the _former_ walking encyclopedia as of now. Gasps from her friends ensued, except from Harry who hadn't been paying any attention to anything at all. She hung her head in shame and wished more than anything to be swallowed up a flaming abyss of unplumbed doom.

"Damn. What about a nine letter synonym for paroxysm beginning with e?"

But before Hermione could answer, Dumbledore had cut her off. "No, it's not epilepsy."

"I-I don't know!" she stammered, and Dumbledore only looked disappointed. He threw down the crossword puzzle with exasperation; they now could see that none of the spaces were filled in at all.

"Alright, I'll tell you anyway," Dumbledore relented. "When the _Illuminati _conceived of this diabolical plot, they forgot one very important thing…"

_I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?_ Harry thought, trying to predict the oracle's next words.

"…that there was a boy with a particular scar who would lead his people into the land of milk, honey, and bran flakes. A boy who would grow up into a fierce fighter, known not for any brawn, but for his intelligence. It was he who would rise up from the ashes of… shit; look I'm not very good at these descriptions so I'll just tell it to you straight:

"Harry? Shape up or ship out, we're counting on you to save the world and so far you've done a pretty half-assed job of it. Why else would Voldemort keep coming back time after time? Clearly you weren't doing it right. So, either get your rear in gear or wallow in the destruction of the Apocalypse. Are you paying attention, Harry? Harry? Harry!"

The Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die looked up, snapped out of his daydream about Candy Mountain and removed his headphones. "Um, what?" Dumbledore sighed in vexation and held his head piteously.

"Heaven help us," the greatest wizard muttered under his breath. The guitar playing was increasing volume as their impending doom approached. The clock was ticking, who knew how long they had left before the mayhem would commence. The buzzer on the oven went off, jolting everyone out of their thoughts. Dumbledore lifted his head up; his eyes had once again taken on their heartrending gaze.

"Cookies are done," he announced.


	9. Thriller!

Chapter 8: Thriller

Harry brushed crumbs from his face and set forth on a new mission… to acquire a nice cold glass of milk. His friends dejectedly followed in the hopes that some event of fate would demolish Harry's laziness. But they all knew too well that something like that wouldn't happen anytime soon, for by the time they had stepped out of the building it had already begun.

The music was louder than ever, threatening to rupture their eardrums. They could even hear a dog howling in the distance. It was when they turned the corner did they find the source of this strange country western music. The musician himself was sitting on the front porch of a rundown shack across the street. He wore a cowboy hat over his flaming red hair, and chewed furiously on a stalk of wheat.

"That's some fancy picking there, Ron," Harry complimented his friend. Ron stopped playing the banjo and looked up.

"Really? You think so?"

"Darn tootin'," Harry insisted with a casual smile. "What're you playing for?"

"Well, I quit my job at McDonald's because I was too talented for that sort of vocation," Ron began to explain. "So, I was unemployed for awhile. Then this scary guy named Zwitter approached me with the task of playing some quality music for some big shindig he and his friends are going to put together."

"Is that so?" Harry went on, as though it were any ordinary day. "That's really something, Ron."

It was at this time that Ron took on a stern expression and looked at his best friend dead in the eye. "The Apocalypse is coming, Harry." He tried to hint to spark some sense into the boy prodigy.

"Yeah, I know."

Ron seemed shocked by his apathetic tone towards the matter. "You do?"

"It's just a bunch of overblown nonsense."

"I hate to break it to you, Harry, but if you don't do something everyone will die _horribly_."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, sounding a little pissed off. "I'm just a boy – a helpless boy who has lived a miserable life and now I'm ready for it to come to a conclusion. I'm ready for the epilogue now, Ms. Rowling."

"You're such an emo whore!" Ron exclaimed. "It's always got to be about you doesn't it?" He began to mock Harry's self-pity. "Oi, everybody! Look at me! I'm a little emo bitch you doesn't give a rat's ass whether you all die or not!" He snapped out of the role and glared virulently at the boy who used to be his friend. "Do you see how selfish that sounds?"

"I guess you're right, for once," Harry seemed to have shed his egocentric personage and took on a more heroic one. The others smiled when they witness this blessed metamorphosis with utmost optimism. "By George! I'm going to go out there and fight this accursed cult. Beware _Illuminati_ for it is I, The Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die, and you have no comprehension of the extent of my unparalleled wrath!" Out of nowhere he had obtained a gleaming sword and thrust it into the sky with emphasis on his noble vow. Brilliant light filtered out between stormy clouds and shone like a heavenly light upon the hero emerged. The true prodigy within Harry had finally awakened and was battle ready, staring deep into the pits of all desolation. And _challenged_ this insolent band of infidels that dared to call themselves the ultimate cult. His eyes shone with radiant flaming purity that threatened to rip apart the blackened hearts of any evildoer. Apocalypse be damned, Harry had the freaking _parental guidebook_ for raising hell.

Hearing this dare, Zwitter rose up from the abyss to meet this champion. The demonic cultist was accompanied by every minion of the _Illuminati_, including every creature converted within that day: every zombie, every criminal, and every homicidal maniac ever born. Legions upon legions of monsters marched up from the pit to shake hands with destiny. They covered the entire surface of the earth, until the world appeared to have darkened out – even the sky was cluttered with masses of hellish soldiers ready upon order to rip apart human flesh slowly and painfully. They gnawed their teeth at Harry in spite and utmost hatred, a promise of what they would do it him if he attempted to wage war against hell itself.

As if that weren't enough, they had their own theme song. Out of the pit, Voldemort followed and was accompanied by flashy back-up singers. Lightning flashed in the sky above, thunder roared, and a pack of wolves howled menacingly at the moon in the distance. That was when the melody kicked in full gear.

"It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark,  
Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart,  
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it,  
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,  
You're paralyzed!"

The back-up singers started dancing behind Voldemort as he belted out his voice, which was to everyone's surprise rather high-pitched. It sounded more like the voice belonged to a lifelong pop star rather than a dark lord. And despite all of their fear and hate for the forces of evil, they couldn't help but admit that the song was very catchy.

"'Cause this is thriller, thriller night,  
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about strike,  
You know its thriller, thriller night,  
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight."

Harry was overcome with a strange sensation in his foot. When he looked down he stared in horror as his foot tapped to the beat.

"You hear the door slam and realize there's nowhere left to run,  
You feel the cold hand and wonder if you'll ever see the sun,  
You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination,  
But all the while you hear the creature creepin' up behind,  
You're out of time!"

The others were experiencing a similar feeling: the uncontrollable urge to dance to this tune that was ironically their funeral dirge.

"'Cause this is thriller, thriller night,  
There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes,  
You know it's thriller, thriller night,  
You're fighting for your life inside of killer, thriller tonight."

Harry finally gave in to tapping his foot and moved his head around to the melody.

"Night creatures call,  
And the dead start to walk in their masquerade,  
Theres no escapin' the jaws of the alien this time,  
(they're open wide)  
This is the end of your life!"

Ron and Hermione started to boogie to the music, having shed their fears.

"They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side,  
They will possess you unless you change the number on your dial,  
Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together,  
All through the night I'll save you from the terror on the screen,  
I'll make you see!"

Harry couldn't stand content to just bob to the music, he eventually started dancing with Ron and Hermione. Draco and Neville soon joined in with their final merriment.

"That this is thriller, thriller night,  
'Cause I can thrill you more than any ghost would dare to try,  
Girl, this is thriller, thriller night,  
So let me hold you tight and share a killer, diller, chiller,  
Thriller here tonight!"

Voldemort stopped singing and began to speak as he did back in the hospital of their doom. As the back-up singers carried on the tune and everyone continued dancing.

"Darkness falls across the land,  
The midnight hour is close at hand,  
Creatures crawl in search of blood,  
To terrorize your neighbourhood,  
And whosoever shall be found,  
Without the soul for getting down,  
Must stand and face the hounds of hell,  
And rot inside a corpse's shell,  
The foulest stench is in the air,  
The funk of forty thousand years,  
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb,  
Are closing in to seal your doom,  
And though you fight to stay alive,  
Your body starts to shiver,  
For no mere mortal can resist,  
The evil of the thriller!"

Voldemort and all of the minions of evil cackled maniacally. The music violently came screeching to a halt, leaving them in eerie silence. Then the very axis of evil began to close in Harry with malice in their red eyes.

"Fuck this…" Harry dropped down his sparkling sword and sauntered off into a pub, leaving the world to deal with the Apocalypse all by itself.

To put it mildly, humanity did not fare well and that was the end of Harry's saga. There would be no sequel or continuation of the series, for there was no longer an author to compose it. And there would most certainly not be a movie made, depicting the gruesome battle feebly fought. It would be last anyone would ever see of the Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die.

The End


End file.
